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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299401">How Would You Like It If...?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist'>Xenobotanist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Garashir Garashorts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Memes, One Shot, accidental innuendos, quickfic, still my favorite tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:08:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>405</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24299401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lunch in Garak's clothiers between the tailor and the doctor takes an unexpected turn when an innocent question takes on a new (or old) meaning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Julian Bashir/Elim Garak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Garashir Garashorts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How Would You Like It If...?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on a tumblr post that I found shared on facebook.<br/>Couldn't help fleshing it out a little.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. Bashir watched Garak jab angrily at the padd he was holding. The station-wide glitches that had begun in the main software had transferred to every handheld device they interacted with. Most inhabitants had brought theirs in to be fixed, but not Garak. Oh no. Only he knew what that padd contained, and he intended to keep it that way. Which brought him here.</p><p>He was working very hard on his latest design in Trill fashion. At least, he was trying to. The screen kept getting fuzzy, and when it cleared, his alterations for the previous 1-3 minutes would have disappeared. After the eighth occurrence, he dumped the offending gadget onto the counter in frustration.</p><p>Bashir looked up from the plomeek soup that he’d been blowing on. He occasionally visited his tailor friend at work during lunch. Normally, the conversation was much more stimulating. He smirked at the uncharacteristic show of temper. “Now Garak, be nice to that datapadd. How would you like it if I banged <em>you</em> on the counter?”</p><p>Garak blinked.</p><p>He blinked again.</p><p>He normally had a response for everything. A witty retort or rejoinder. A snarky comeback. Something.</p><p>Nonplussed, his lunch companion leaned in, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hallo? Garak? Where’d you go?”</p><p>Slowly, his eyes came back into focus. They wavered slightly, then narrowed in on the face only two handspans away.</p><p>“My dear doctor, <em>however</em> do you expect me to respond to such a question?”</p><p>Bashir rewound the past few moments, then replayed the conversation in his mind. His ears and cheeks flooded with warmth as he blushed handsomely. His enhanced brain flew through a dozen potential responses and scenarios, but his confidence wavered. His mouth suddenly dry as a Cardassian desert, he tried to sound composed. “You could try responding…<em>honestly.”</em></p><p>“Oh, but there are so many different versions of the truth. Which one would you like?”</p><p>“Pick one,” Bashir all but growled.</p><p>The tailor pretended to mull it over.  “How would I like it if you banged me on the counter…?” He shook his head and tsked. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t like it very much at all.”</p><p>Bashir’s face rapidly drained from dark pink to white.</p><p>Garak leaned in, just a little further. “<em>However…</em>in the storeroom, or my quarters, perhaps…” He tilted his head, a little smile playing on his lips.</p><p>“Perhaps…?” Bashir asked breathlessly.</p><p>“I would like it very much indeed.”</p>
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